One Night Only
by MP119
Summary: Ron wants Hermione. Hermione wants Ron. The problem? She's completely wasted. ON HIATUS


I originally meant for this to be a oneshot but it got too long. Hopefully I'll get enough positive feedback to continue.

* * *

Ron entered the pub, his eyes adjusting to the dim light as he scanned the few patrons still scattered about. He found her sitting at the bar, talking animatedly to the bartender. She was still in her work clothes, although the wrinkled skirt and blouse were a testament to the kind of day she'd had. Sighing, he weaved his way through the low tables until he was standing next to her.

"You're drunk," he said matter-of-factly.

Hermione downed back the shot the bartender had placed in front of her and focused her bleary eyes on the tall, redheaded man standing before her. Once her brain connected face with name she grinned like an overjoyed child. "Ron! What're you doing here?"

"You're drunk," Ron repeated, sitting on the empty stool next to hers.

She tried her best to look offended. "I am not."

Ron just arched an eyebrow at her as he dribbled bar nuts into his mouth.

Hermione shrugged carelessly and then leaned closer to him, lowering her voice to a surreptitious whisper. "Okay, maybe I am. Just a little."

He counted five empty shot glasses in front of her and tried not to sigh again. "Ginny said you've been here for almost an hour."

"I'm a grown woman. If I want to go out and get completely piss-faced, so be it." Her fierce pronouncement lost its effect due to her slurred words.

Ron wondered how to make his next statement, cursing his lack of tact. "Owen is a complete arse-hole."

"I couldn't agree more!" Hermione cried out, hitting the countertop for emphasis and almost missing. "Lemme ask you something, Ron. You're a man, right?"

"So I'm told."

"With a penis, correct?"

"Yes indeed," he said, amused despite himself.

"Why is that you people can't keep that thing in your pants? Whatever happened to the _sanctity_ of a committed relationship?" Hermione asked, her voice rising in decibels with each word.

Ron choked back his anger, reminding himself that telling her what he really thought of Owen wouldn't help matters. "Not all of us are like that. Some of us are actually pretty decent."

She began to signal the bartender for another drink and then pouted when Ron pushed her arm down and shook his head. "You're a dying breed." She did her best to suppress a burp. "I think you and Harry should kick his ass."

Ron chuckled, wondering if it was wrong to find her completely adorable in her inebriated state. "Aye, sounds like a good plan. But maybe we should take you home first. You have work tomorrow, don't you?"

She shrugged again, pushing back her mass of hair off her face. "Who cares? It's just work. I'm trying to drown my sorrows in liquor here, Ron."

"Yeah, you're definitely shit-faced," he murmured under his breath as he signaled for the check. "Even so. I'll take you to your flat and we'll talk this out."

"Fine. I think I have some firewhisky in my flat anyway."

Ron nodded sagely as he paid the bill, thinking the chances were slim to none that she'd get any more alcohol in her system tonight. "Right, here we go," he said, helping her off her stool. She was unsteady on her feet and collapsed into his arms.

"Whoops," she said, waiting for the room to stop spinning.

When she had her balance, Ron led her outside into the chilly night. Knowing she was in no condition to walk, he Apparated them both to her flat. Once he got the door open, he steered her inside.

"Wait right here," he cautioned before going to her bathroom in search of some Sober-Up potion. He returned empty-handed five minutes later to find her kneeling on the kitchen floor and rummaging through some drawers. "What are you doing?"

"Looking for the firewhisky," she said, as if it were obvious.

He pulled her to her feet and led her to the couch. "I think you've had enough alcohol for tonight. Where's your Sober-Up?"

She gave a small hiccup. "I don't think I have any. _Hic_. Ran out. _Hic_. No time to buy more." She stared at him intently as if seeing him for the first time. "Has anyone ever told you how cute you look when you're concerned?"

He tried to fight the blush creeping up his cheeks. "That's the liquor talking."

"Nuh-uh, I've always thought so." Her face was so close to his he could see just how purely brown her eyes were. "You're sexy. Dunno why I've never told you."

He cleared his throat. "Right, well, we've got to get some food in you." He conjured up a sandwich and gave it to her. "Eat this. No arguments."

He watched closely as she ate the whole thing obediently. She looked at him expectantly when she was finished. "Want another one?"

She completely ignored his question. "I'm attractive, right?"

He glanced her. Even though she was drunk and her clothes horribly wrinkled, he still found her beautiful. "Of course you are."

"Thank you! I am extremely attractive! And good in bed. _Mind-blowingly_ good in bed!"

He closed his eyes and prayed for patience. The last thing he needed was to think of her in bed with Owen or anyone else, for that matter. _She's drunk, she's drunk, she's drunk_. "I don't doubt that."

"So then why would Owen completely disregard all of that and sleep with that Karen? And then she sends him flowers here! It's as if he wanted to get caught. I mean, if you're gonna cheat, do it correctly," she exclaimed, getting up and pacing clumsily. "He's an idiot."

"He's more than idiot," Ron said, pity and anger stirring simultaneously in his heart. "He's a jackass, plain and simple."

"I invested seven months in that bastard."

"You deserve better. You _will_ find better," Ron said emphatically, standing behind her and rubbing her arms.

She turned to face him. "But when? I'm twenty-four years old, Ron. I'm tired of looking."

_I'm right here_. He couldn't find the courage to say those words and instead enveloped her in his arms, hoping it would communicate some of what he felt.

She sighed. "You're such a great friend."

"Now I know that's definitely the alcohol talking."

"No, really. You are like the one constantly good thing in my life. You're always there for me no matter what," she said, her head nestled against his chest.

He said nothing as he hugged her tighter, wanting to take her emotional pain away.

Hermione pulled away from him in an attempt to meet his eyes. "Can I tell you a secret?"

"Sure."

"I want you. Bad."

He would've been less surprised if she'd taken out a bat and hit him over the head with it. In his shell-shocked state, he couldn't help cursing the gods of irony that Hermione was completely drunk and therefore probably unaware of what she was saying. "What?"

She nodded more times than was necessary as she pushed him back onto the couch. " 'S true. Wanna rip your clothes off all the time."

He was simultaneously delighted and alarmed when she began unbuttoning her blouse. He reached up and covered her hand with this. "Hermione. We can't do this."

She looked at him with the wide eyes of a child. "Why not?

"We've already established that you're drunk," Ron said as gently as possible. It was amazing he could even form coherent sentences with all the blood rushing towards a particular part of his anatomy. "I would be taking advantage of you."

She shook his hand off and began unbuttoning her shirt again. "I'm giving you the advantage here, Ron. Take it."

The swell of her breasts as well as the top of her bra were now clearly visible. "I really can't." He put his hands on her shoulders and began to push her off him.

Alcohol apparently gave Hermione freakish strength because she wrenched his hands away again and leaned closer, her mouth centimeters from his. "You can't tell me you don't want to."

She didn't even give him a chance to deny or agree. The kiss that followed was so fast and deep he had to pull away for fear his brain wouldn't get enough oxygen. The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. "I do."

She smiled. "I knew it." She leaned over to nip at his jaw. "So who are we hurting? We're two consenting adults, aren't we?" She began kissing his neck slowly, making him wonder if it was possible to just die of pure happiness and arousal.

"Yeah, I reckon so," Ron managed before she kissed him again.

She tore away from him and began unbuttoning his shirt. "Just for one night," she whispered against his lips.

Those four words brought Ron crashing back to reality. He quickly maneuvered them so she was sitting on the couch and stood up. "No."

TBC


End file.
